On Thursday afternoon, in bright sunshine and with it so warm I could work in a T-shirt, I worked with Year 5 to dig over one of the long beds at the school allotment. Year 5 are 9 to 10 year-olds with seemingly boundless energy. The challenge was to convert that energy into a force for cultivation without anyone getting disemboweled in the process.
While you can give children scissors with rounded blades to cut paper, only proper metal spades and forks with sharp blades and keen points will till soil. Putting such things into the hands of children is fraught with potential peril. Anyone who tells you that modern schools are hide-bound by "Health and Safety gone mad" and completely risk-averse has absolutely no idea what they are talking about.
Getting 9 to 10 year-olds to stand still and listen to a health and safety briefing isn't easy, and there is no point in being subtle. The first difficulty is just getting them not to pick up the tools before you've explained what should, or should not, be done with them. One or two will just grab the first thing to hand and make a dash for any bit of bare ground. During the pre-dig talk, you have to use the word "death" several times before they start to pay attention, and describe a few potential grizzly injuries. When it's all gone quiet, it's probably safe to start handing out the tools.
That can cause dissent in itself, as they aren't all the same and none of the boys want smaller forks or spades than any of the ones the girls are using.
"Can I use your spade, Miss?" asked one lad, unaware of how possessive I am about my personal long-handled tools.
"No."
"Why not?"
"Because it's taller than you."
I had two teams, the first of which was mixed boys and girls, the second five lively lads. Team one listened well to their health and safety talk, paid attention to why the rye grass had been sown and set about their task enthusiastically and in a co-ordinated manner. They even organised themselves to pose for photos, expertly taken by one of the girls. We soon had their half of the plot turned over. They also got to work on turning the compost heap (which seems to be rotting down quite well). Apart from a couple of near 'Tom and Jerry' moments where forks were left on the ground, the threat level was low.
By contrast, team two were manic. Armed with their spades and forks, they set about digging out and chopping up the rye grass plants with chants of "Kill, kill!" until urged to be less aggressive, when they switched to "Die, die!". Further exhortation to calm down eventually took effect and the digging became less frenetic. There was a sudden concern for the worms being unearthed, declared "hostages" for rescue, which had to be moved to the safety of the dug patch, though this meant small clumsy hands clutching at squishy invertebrates, and all while blades and prongs flew around them. Miraculously, no fingers or hands were lost.
One of the lads found a caterpillar. "Another hostage, Miss!".
"Actually, that's more of a 'hostile'. They eat our plants." I replied. "But they do turn into butterflies."
"Shall I kill it, Miss!"
Against all my instincts, I resisted the temptation to authorise lethal force and urged mercy - it was to be taken to the compost heap and released onto it. They trooped over towards the compost heap where a guilty huddle of boys and a cry of "urghh!" indicated that the prisoner had actually met with summary execution.
It seems that Year 5 are not signatories of the Geneva Convention.
